


Matter of Instinct

by karasgotagun (jazzmckay)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Gavin Reed, Enemies to Lovers, Gavin Reed Has a Praise Kink, Hunter Gavin Reed, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Vampire Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun
Summary: Connor (a vampire) and Gavin (a hunter) have been circling each other for months, neither of them able to kill the other. Their relationship comes to a head when Gavin is hurt during a fight with another vampire.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 33
Kudos: 240
Collections: A DBH Vampire AU (when the idea takes over the writers)





	1. Chapter 1

Connor moves around his home on soundless footsteps, drifting between the small rooms in an aimless stupor. Sunrise is less than an hour away but his tumultuous thoughts keep rest at bay, forcing him to expend what energy he can by doing short circuits around his domain.

The past few weeks have been routine. Connor has his usual haunts, has vampires he meets with frequently and the odd matter that needs handling to keep the peace in his neck of the city. Everything has been going smoothly, and he should be pleased with that. But—

He hasn’t had an encounter with hunters in some time. Hasn’t encountered one hunter in particular.

In his bedroom, Connor comes to a stop in front of his dresser. There’s a mirror set atop it, but no reflection is cast on the surface, showing only the deep red sheets on the double bed behind him. Balanced on the stained wood of the dresser is a single bullet casing expended from a desert eagle pistol.

Connor picks it up. The dented metal flashes as he rolls it over his fingers, letting it cascade along his knuckles before twisting his wrist to catch it, stopping it from falling. In the mirror, it floats as if moved by telepathy, nothing but a brass glint in constant motion.

The bullet it housed caught the right side of Connor’s neck, leaving a groove from throat to nape that took the better part of six hours to heal properly.

Connor cherishes the memory of those six hours he spent with Reed’s mark upon his flesh. It had been painful. It had made swallowing difficult, meaning he couldn’t drink blood to expedite the healing. Reed was so good, that night.

Tossing the bullet case into the air, Connor watches it spin and arc in the mirror’s reflection before catching it in his other palm. He clasps his fist tight, feeling the curved edges push against his skin, the open end leaving a circle indentation in the base of his thumb.

He wishes to know what’s causing Reed to keep his distance. Weeks have passed since they last sparred.

That mystery will need to be solved another night. Connor spins on his heel to face his bed, casing still held in his grip as he heads for the nightstand. He sets the little memento down, then begins to unbutton his shirt.

With the sun about to rise, he has no choice but to wait and wonder.

Once he’s undressed to nothing but his boxer briefs, he gets into the bed, lying back to stare at the dark ceiling. His apartment is a floor below ground level, only accessible to the alley outside by a short staircase up against the side of the building. It leaves his room in total darkness, the shape of his furniture and the space between the walls only visible through the enhanced photoreceptors in his eyes.

Sleep won’t come easily, but he shuts his eyes in a facsimile of rest all the same.

No matter how much Connor tries to clear his mind, thoughts of Reed break through the solitude like the crack of a gunshot, like the strike of a punch to the cheekbone.

Reed’s tight grip on a pistol, Reed’s breath quick from the exertion of battle, Reed’s heartbeat quick but strong and steady, Reed’s scent, and smirk, and scars.

Connor can almost smell him, as if he were close instead of hidden somewhere in the city.

The sensory recall is unexpectedly soothing, lulling Connor into relaxation, almost to the point of sleep. He’s balancing on the edge of unconsciousness when a loud bang breaks the silence, yanking him back to wakefulness.

Startling up into a seated position, Connor turns an ear towards the door of his apartment, fangs already bared. The sound came from that direction, from the door itself, he’s certain.

He picks up on something else, a fainter thud, not quite so prominent.

Movements slow and measured, Connor stands from his bed and creeps out of the bedroom, headed for the entranceway.

There’s a peephole in his front door that he can use to see what’s out there without exposing himself to sunlight or an attack.

But he doesn’t have to.

The scent of Reed is strong, just on the other side of the barrier between them. There are a lot of elements that blend to create the scent that is wholly Reed—lead, sweat, blood, oil.

Two warring emotions flare through Connor, excitement curling around fury. He wanted to meet with Reed again, but this is not their usual way of doing things. Of course, Connor has long since figured out the location of Reed’s home—as well as a couple safe houses—but they do not seek each other out on personal grounds.

To come here is to bring the fight to a serious level. It’s to declare intent to kill once and for all, to bring an end to their flirtation.

Approaching the door until he can place a hand against it, Connor snarls loud enough for Reed to hear him. He projects his voice to carry through. “What are you doing here?”

He hears Reed shift, hears the slide of his leather jacket as he slumps against the door. “Just open the door.”

“How dare you—”

“Please, Connor.”

Connor grinds his teeth together, fangs biting into his bottom lip. He has never heard Reed speak like this, doesn’t remember Reed ever addressing him this way. It’s always crude insults, with Reed, even if his delivery of them has become far less heated of late. Not only are the words unlike him, but the tone, the breathlessness that isn’t from fighting a battle—all of it puts Connor on edge.

Something isn’t right.

“It’s daytime,” he says through the door.

He gets no answer from Reed, but Connor can hear and smell that he hasn’t moved. With a sigh, he unlocks and unlatches the door, then steps to the side, where the door will block him.

“You had better be quick,” he warns Reed with a growl.

Reed makes a muffled sound, something like agreement.

As he pulls the door open, Connor turns his face in towards the wall, avoiding the brightness as much as he can to preserve his eyes.

Reed’s steps are uneven and dragging. He stumbles into the entranceway like a drunkard, one hand quickly fumbling at the edge of the door to swing it back shut behind him.

Connor… appreciates that.

As soon as the door clicks shut and Connor is turning to face the hunter, he’s met with the full force of Reed pressing against him. A knee slips between Connor’s as a hand goes around his waist to lay against the small of his back, the other sliding up Connor’s chest; the curve of Reed’s nose presses into the side of Connor’s neck.

 _Oh_ , Connor thinks dumbly, uncharacteristically caught off guard.

He can feel Reed’s breath ghost against his skin, Reed’s eyelashes flutter against the line of his jaw. Reed melts into him so heavily Connor has to wrap both arms around him to keep him from buckling.

Perhaps Reed _is_ seeking to end their flirtation, but by sealing the deal instead of doing away with it. Connor digs his fingers into Reed’s hip, eliciting a low moan that’s music to his ears.

But there’s something not quite right about it. It’s too quick, too far outside their usual guarded back and forth. Reed has never been one to throw himself at Connor, unless he’s doing so with a combat knife gripped tight in his hand.

Reed mouths at Connor’s throat—the sensation is nice, but Connor can’t let himself relax and reciprocate. As he places a stabilizing hand on Reed’s side, he focuses his senses, looking for something out of place.

Beneath the leather of Reed’s jacket, the detergent he washes his clothes in, there’s the scent of blood. It’s too faint to be a concern, but it’s evidence enough that Reed has been in a recent fight.

Connor eases Reed back enough to get a proper look at him, surveying him for signs of injury. Reed’s neck is unmarred, no bites blotting his skin, but Connor didn’t expect to find any—he would have picked up on that immediately. He pushes his hand beneath Reed’s shirt, causing Reed to arch into his touch, but Connor ignores him. Across Reed’s flank, Connor finds a set of four parallel scratches, light enough to be more of a nuisance than anything for a man so accustomed to brutal fights.

Connor tightens a hand on Reed’s hip, holding him fast. “Tell me what happened.”

At first, Reed only squirms, fingers scrabbling against Connor’s chest, but the question finally registers. He looks up at Connor with glazed-over eyes, his pupils blown.

“Venom.”

“You haven’t been bitten.”

“Injection,” Reed mutters as he puts renewed effort into breaking free from Connor’s grip to close the distance between them.

 _Oh_ , Connor thinks again, and this revelation doesn’t come as smoothly as the last. It comes with the return of his anger but directed at a different source. It comes with an odd sense of being personally slighted. It comes with the need to—protect.

A growl builds in the back of Connor’s throat before he even realizes he’s doing it. He takes Reed’s arm and loops it around his own shoulder before swooping down to lift Reed into a bridal carry. As he moves back to the bedroom, Reed leans into him, nuzzling into Connor’s hair.

A bite would be enough to explain the lethargy. But a pure, substantial dosage—that explains the desperation.

Whoever did this will not outlast the week.

Gently, Connor sets Reed down on the side of his mattress. “Sit still for me,” he orders.

Reed licks his cracked lips and grasps a shaky hand in Connor’s bed sheets, but he obeys.

Turning to the bedside table, Connor flips the lamp on, allowing Reed a better view of his surroundings. In the light, it’s markedly easier to see the finer details of Reed’s affliction—his cheeks are flush, there’s sweat beaded at his hairline, and the crotch of his jeans is tight.

Reed allows Connor to push at the lapels of his leather jacket, helpfully holding his arms back so Connor can remove it from him entirely and lay it over the end of the bed.

Connor goes for his belt next, which signals the end of Reed’s ability to follow orders.

“Con,” he whispers as he makes a grab for Connor’s waist again.

“Didn’t I tell you to sit still?”

“Can’t. Please—”

“Hush.”

Connor gets the belt off, then quickly continues to the button and zipper of Reed’s jeans. Reed is more than willing to lift himself so Connor can slide them down, thinking Connor is undressing him for a different reason than Connor’s true goal.

While Reed is under the influence of another vampire’s venom, there will be no sex between them. Not until Connor has the surety that Reed feels the bond between them growing as well, not until Reed can act under his own power. Connor wants him willing, wants him submitting out of genuine desire.

Boxers and a t-shirt should be comfortable enough for sleep. Connor prods Reed until he shuffles backwards, bringing his legs up on the mattress.

“Lie down.”

Reed moves without further prompting, pulling the sheets aside and resting himself beneath them, head on one of the pillows. His eyes trail after Connor as he circles the bed and gets in on the other side, still hungry with intent that Connor intends to curb.

It pains Connor to deny him, but not so much so that he will take what hasn’t been freely given, no matter how Reed will complain, fight, and try to gain Connor’s attention.

After settling in close, Connor grasps Reed’s hip and pushes him over onto his side, facing away.

“Hey—” Reed starts, but Connor shushes him once again as he fits himself in against Reed’s back, spooning him.

An arm wrapped around Reed’s waist keeps him locked in position.

Reed bucks his hips, testing him. “Connor, what are you doing?”

“Holding you until you come down from the high. Be still.”

“I don’t want to.”

Connor can practically hear the pout in his voice. “You don’t know what you want right now. Settle down, then tell me exactly what happened.”

Ever the meddlesome bother, Reed switches from attempts at bucking away to rubbing himself back into Connor’s groin.

“Reed,” Connor snaps warningly. “Do not make me restrain you.”

“Who says I’m not into that?”

Reed punctuates his point by hooking his ankle with one of Connor’s, tangling them. He grabs at the hand Connor has laid over his abdomen and tries to push it downwards, fingernails digging into Connor’s unyielding flesh.

“Perhaps another time, dear,” Connor says. “If you force my hand, I will leave you hogtied on my couch while I return here for a comfortable day’s sleep.”

When Reed groans, it sounds more frustrated than aroused. In any other situation, Connor would prefer it the other way around, but this feels like true progress.

Connor presses his face to the back of Reed’s neck, taking in a breath just to indulge in Reed’s scent. The human’s blood pounds in his throat, slow from the numbing effects of the venom, but still strong and enticing.

“Tell me what happened, Reed. Start from the beginning and do not omit any details.”

After another moment of wiggling within Connor’s hold, Reed forfeits the battle. There’s no breaking through Connor’s strength and he knows it.

“Uh,” he mumbles. “Was taking out a nest. Pretty standard, I thought.”

“It did not go as planned?”

Reed shakes his head, hair ruffling against his pillow. “They had allies… or, well, someone orchestrating them for their own needs, probably.”

“Someone who was more of a threat,” Connor muses.

“Yeah. Got caught off guard. Bastard stuck me before I even knew he was there.”

“Tell me about him.”

Reed angles his head, lifting and turning his chin in a way that bares his throat.

Ignoring it as best as he can, Connor shuts his eyes and nuzzles deeper into Reed’s nape. “Keep talking. Give me his description and repeat whatever you can remember him saying.”

“Bossy,” Reed mutters.

All the same, he tells Connor what the vampire looked like, as thorough as he would be while getting a police sketch. He has the observation skills of a former detective, has noticed things that most would not while in a high-tension situation like a fight against several vampires. The details are enough that Connor will know the vampire when he sees him. In the next few nights, he hopes to go on the hunt.

“How did you get away?” Connor questions.

“By being a bad bitch.”

Despite himself, Connor grins, his lips brushing into Reed’s neck. Reed shivers against him in response, but he stays still otherwise, seeming to have learned his antics will get him nowhere.

“Sunrise helped,” Reed admits. “Just had to fight long enough to get somewhere brighter.”

That’s lucky. Connor knows better than anyone just how effective Reed is in a fight—he’s one of very few vampires who has ever survived more than a couple encounters with the hunter. Reed is a spitfire with little to no self-preservation to his name, and it works. He bounces back from every tough spot he gets himself into.

An injection of venom this strong would have made his experience and tenacity worthless. It would have brought him to heel no matter how hard he fought.

The growl returns to Connor’s throat. He resists the impulse to push Reed flat into the mattress and roll on top of him, shelter him, show him that he won’t allow any other vampire to lay a claim.

“What’s ’a matter?” Reed slurs sleepily.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Nothing,” Connor repeats, tone hard. “Once I find this sorry excuse for a leech, I’m going to tear his head off, and then we will both be perfectly fine.”

Reed hums thoughtfully, but he says nothing, leaving Connor to wonder what conclusions he’s drawing.

Connor knows he’s being forward, more forward than is appropriate for the way they have interacted prior to this, but Reed is the one who showed up at Connor’s door while vulnerable, unable to fight. Reed is the one who chose Connor over going to his hunter allies. Reed is the one who changed the playing field.

There’s a chance that once the venom wears off, Reed will attempt to downplay it so they can return to the way things were. If that’s how he truly feels, Connor will allow it, but if he senses Reed is lying to himself to preserve his delicate perception of intimacy, Connor will ensure they do not take a step backwards.

He wants Reed. Has wanted him for months.

Connor slides his hand higher on Reed’s stomach, up to his chest, settling over his heart. “Why did you come here?” he asks. “Why here and not somewhere else?”

Reed’s chest is expanding and contracting at a calm, steady pace, deep and relaxed. There isn’t an ounce of fear in him. Connor wishes he could know if that’s because of the venom or because Reed trusts him.

(Deep down, he knows the answer isn’t the one he wants to believe, but that’s a bridge he will cross when the time comes.)

“You were closest,” Reed says into the pillow.

“Is that so?”

“Shut up.”

“I only asked a simple question.”

“Did not.”

Connor chuckles as he rubs his thumb over Reed’s chest, feeling the beating of the human’s heart under his palm. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Reed repeats.

“It’s okay. You can be honest.”

Reed wriggles again, but away instead of closer.

Connor lifts his arm, letting Reed have more space. He watches as Reed moves towards the edge of the bed, muscles taut and fingers curling in the sheets.

Some clarity must be returning to him, from either the venom running its course or the needling Connor is giving him. He curls inwards, breath a little quicker and heavier than it has been.

“I don’t know, okay,” he says, sounding strangled. He’s turned in a way that Connor can’t see his face. “I don’t know, I don’t—”

“Shh.” Connor replaces his hand on Reed’s back, smoothing it over the wrinkles in his t-shirt. “You’re safe, here.”

Reed’s voice comes out breathy and faint. “Am I?”

“Yes, Reed. You’re safest here, until you’re well again.”

There’s a beat of silence while Reed continues to curl away from Connor, fingers becoming so tight around his handful of bed sheets that they tremble.

Connor waits—doesn’t push. He longs to gather Reed close again, to chase away his panic with touch, but Reed isn’t in his right mind. He needs time and space.

One decision has changed something between them, in a way Connor has been ready to accommodate at a moment’s notice, but where Connor is as malleable as a shifting tide, Reed can be an immovable object.

“Until… I’m well,” Reed says. He curses under his breath, a string of vulgar words that Connor can easily hear no matter how much Reed mumbles. “What was I thinking?”

The question isn’t meant for Connor, but Connor answers, anyway. “You were not. You acted on instinct.”

Reed whirls around, remaining bent away from Connor as much as he can while still glaring him down. “Why—why would I…”

His pupils aren’t as blown wide, now. Still large—but in a way that makes sense for the low light of the bedroom.

“You’re doing good,” Connor says, feeling oddly prideful of Reed’s strength and resilience. “You’re fighting it.”

Reed growls, taking Connor’s compliment in the exact opposite way Connor hoped. He leverages himself up, kicking the sheets off his legs and stumbling out of the bed.

“Reed, please be careful,” Connor says with a sigh as he sits up and moves into the space Reed vacated. He doesn’t follow any further, sensing that Reed wouldn’t welcome it.

As expected, between exhaustion from the fight and the venom still simmering in his veins, he stumbles.

One of Reed’s hands slams down into Connor’s nightstand to catch himself.

Connor hears the clink of metal tumbling over the surface and remembers—the bullet casing.

Reed goes still, eyes down on the nightstand. The casing has rolled to a stop just an inch away from the tip of his pinky finger, the curve of brass shining under the lamplight above it.

“That’s… from my desert eagle,” Reed says.

The tone of his voice is inscrutable, even to Connor. “It is,” Connor confirms carefully.

With a calm settling back over him, Reed easily regains his bearings, able to lift his hand without losing his balance. He picks up the casing, holding it between thumb and forefinger.

“Why do you have this?”

Connor scrapes his tongue across the bottom of a fang, tracing the point over his flesh. He isn’t sure what to say, or what Reed is hoping to hear.

To his silence, Reed spins around and faces him head-on, bullet casing still held in his hand. “Tell me, asshole. You want to know why I came here? Well I want to know why you’re collecting my ammo casings.”

Taking it had been a whim. Had been instinct. “It makes me think of you,” Connor says.

Reed raises his eyebrows. “In what way? Gets you all geared up to rip my throat out? Gives you clever ideas for how to disarm me? Makes you angry? Brings out your vicious side?”

Fire burns through Connor’s cold form. “Stop,” he snarls through clenched teeth, hackles raised. He doesn’t know what about Reed’s outburst is pissing him off so much, but he wants Reed to _stop_.

“Because I’m right? Or because I’m way off base?”

“ _Gavin_.”

A flicker of something glints in Reed’s eyes; Connor notices his mistake too late, the familiar name already hanging in the air between them. It makes Gavin straighten his back and raise his chin, holding Connor’s gaze with a smug, knowing look that makes Connor feel pinned.

He launches himself out of the bed, hand finding Gavin’s throat even before he’s had a chance to think the action through. The casing drops to the carpet with a light thud as the two of them stumble backwards, only kept upright by Connor’s supernatural strength.

Both hands now empty, Gavin grasps onto Connor’s hips but doesn’t push him away, doesn’t fight back. The slight pressure Connor has around his throat isn’t enough to stop him from speaking in an infuriatingly calm, toying voice. “It’s okay. You can be honest.”

The tone, the words repeated back at him—Connor is torn between throttling Gavin and giving in to every little desire he has locked away since Gavin first fell into his chest after ambling through the front door.

“You are insufferable,” Connor grouses. He leans in, resting his forehead against Gavin’s. “An absolute terror. How uncharacteristically idiotic of me to become so enamoured with you.”

From this angle, he can just barely make out the curve of Gavin’s lips. The left corner quirks up enough that Connor knows he’s gloating with victory.

“Are you happy?” he throws at Gavin, unable to diminish his petulant timbre.

“I’d be happier if you took me back to bed,” Gavin says.

“You’re the one who left it in the first place.”

“Give me a break. I had a rough night.”

Connor turns his head enough to bump their noses together before he draws back. He circles an arm fully around Gavin’s waist and spins them around, easily maneuvering Gavin’s weight back down into the bed.

The smirk on Gavin’s lips softens into something gentle, more genuine. A close-lipped smile, accentuated by the open and ardent look in his eyes.

Connor presses him down into the sheets and climbs over him, just like he wanted to while Gavin told him the tale of his evening. One of his legs fits between Gavin’s as their hips align. With one hand planted at Gavin’s side and the other over his shoulder, Connor eases himself down, slow enough to watch the heat of anticipation flare over Gavin’s features.

Unconsciously, Gavin wets his lips, and Connor responds with a smirk of his own as he closes the rest of the distance between them.

Over the past several months since they first ran into each other, Connor has become familiar with the language of Gavin’s body. The hunter is a man of constant movement, whether it’s the tightening of his fingers around a gun grip, or the crinkle of irritation in his scarred nose, or the jerking of a restless knee when he’s behind cover and waiting for Connor to hunt him down.

He’s no different here and now. Fingers claw into Connor’s back while the other hand becomes embedded in Connor’s hair, a thigh bends to press against the curve of Connor’s hip, blunt teeth tease at Connor’s bottom lip. He’s pliant and responsive and so warm Connor feels as if he’s been scorched by fire.

There’s no wariness in Gavin’s kiss. It wouldn’t take much pressure for Connor to accidentally pierce Gavin’s skin with his fangs, fangs that are just as capable of producing the venom that brought Gavin to his door in the first place.

At once, knots of emotion coil in Connor’s chest, an amalgamation of care for this formidable, unafraid human, fury at the vampire who tried to remove him from Connor’s world, concern for how much that venom is still holding influence.

Connor presses closer, kisses Gavin harder, before leaning away. Slipping one arm around Gavin, he rolls onto his back, pulling Gavin on top of him instead.

Gavin’s grip on him tightens until he adjusts to the new position, melting into Connor’s chest. He starts to lift himself up again, but Connor catches his shoulders to bring him back down.

“You need to rest,” Connor says.

Gavin’s relaxed face shifts completely into annoyance, eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Connor answers with a grin.

Sneering, Gavin grapples at Connor’s side, but the circle of Connor’s arms is an effective restraint. “You can’t just… do that, and then tell me to go to sleep, you bastard!”

He thrusts his hips down against Connor’s, showing Connor exactly how much he would rather continue, but Connor won’t be swayed, no matter how much his own body agrees. It will pass as they settle.

“Not until I’m sure you are no longer under the influence.”

Something about the words gives Gavin pause, makes the lines of his face smooth out. His jaw remains clenched, the frustration still evident, but he relents in gradual stages.

“Fine,” Gavin hisses as he lays his head down on Connor’s shoulder, nuzzling into Connor’s neck. “You’re still a bastard but… fine.”

Connor lets out a pleased purr as Gavin rests against him. No longer feeling it’s necessary to hold him down, he raises a hand to sift his fingers through Gavin’s hair.

They slip into an easy silence. Calmed, Gavin goes lax on Connor’s chest, his breath a faint tickle on the skin just over Connor’s collarbone. Connor almost feels like he could fall asleep as well, content with the beating of Gavin’s heart a steady presence between them.

Connor doesn’t know how much time has passed when Gavin breaks the quiet.

“Where do we go from here?” he whispers into Connor’s skin.

Their status quo has been a constant stalemate fight with the city as their battlefield. They would meet on neutral ground, would trade blows and banter until both needed to retreat. Gavin never seemed to fire a bullet that could catch Connor in the forehead or chest; Connor never seemed to get a hold of Gavin in a way that Gavin couldn’t break free from.

This is all different. They will need to rewrite their repertoire.

“Forward,” Connor answers.

“Together?”

“Obviously,” Connor scoffs.

Gavin snorts in amusement. “Asshole.”

“Mm,” Connor hums. “We’re two of a kind.”

Turning his face further into the curve of Connor’s neck, Gavin kisses him right where a pulse point would be. He follows it with a little nip of his teeth, so light it’s more of a statement than an action.

With a flutter in his stomach, Connor feels truly warm for the first time since he was human. He slides his hand out of Gavin’s hair to cup the nape of his neck, cradling it with a gentle touch and holding Gavin close as they both slip into comfortable sleep, at ease in each other's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) for the beta read! <3

The first thing Gavin is aware of when he starts waking up is how sore he feels.

He nuzzles his face into the warmth beneath him, nearly lulled back to sleep until awareness catches up to him—it isn’t pillows he’s resting his head on, but someone’s chest. Blinking his bleary eyes, he pushes himself up to look down at the vampire sleeping under him, completely motionless, no automatic breathing to keep his chest rising and falling.

Arkay— _Connor_ —looks more peaceful than Gavin has ever seen him. Most of their interactions, up until this very morning, involved a lot of fighting. An exchange of punches, bullets, and grapples. Seeing the vampire now, so gentle with his hair mussed against the pillow and a hand laid on Gavin’s back, is something else entirely.

The night before, Gavin got himself in trouble and instinctively came to Connor instead of doing something smart like texting Tina. It could have ended badly. _Should_ have ended badly. Connor had Gavin’s life in the palm of his hand, but—it didn’t end badly at all. Not only did Connor not take advantage, he was protective. Gavin threw himself at Connor—embarrassingly so—and Connor just held him through the worst of it, unbothered and untempted.

He’s certain the venom is gone, now, but Gavin finds himself still perfectly content to be here, in bed with Connor.

If only his muscles didn’t feel like rusted metal. With a groan, Gavin pulls away from Connor, causing the arm around him to fall onto the sheets. His knees crack as he steps out of the bed and stretches, feeling his spine realign.

The lamp on the nightstand is still on—for Gavin’s sake. He catches sight of the bullet casing dropped to the carpet a couple feet away, forgotten there during their brief scuffle. Leaning down, he plucks the cylinder of brass off the ground to replace it on the bedside table.

As he glances back over his shoulder to the vampire sleeping soundly, he flicks the lamp off, sending the room into total darkness. The light doesn’t seem to bother Connor, but Gavin figures he would prefer to be without it.

Gavin waits for his eyes to adjust, but even when they do, he can barely make out anything around him. With a hand outstretched in front of him, he makes his way towards where he knows the door is, managing to step out of the bedroom without bumping into anything.

In the main room, he finds the switch for the light above the open-plan kitchen.

His mouth feels like a desert, uncomfortably dry. In search of a drinking glass, Gavin opens a cupboard and finds it completely empty with a thin layer of dust settled on the shelves. “Of course, idiot,” he mumbles to himself. Connor has no need for dishware. At most, he might stick a straw in a blood bag.

With no other options, he ends up leaning over the kitchen sink, cupping tap water in his hands.

It’s enough that he feels a little less like death warmed over, which eases the soreness in his body. The loss of venom brings the tension and aches back, but it also makes him feel more like himself. A welcome exchange.

He could do with some more freshening up, though. Making his way towards the door that can only be the bathroom, Gavin eagerly anticipates being able to wash his face and brush his teeth.

As he steps into the room and turns the light on, he imagines how bent out of shape Connor will be about Gavin using his toothbrush. For a creature of the night, Connor can be a little uptight.

Gavin splashes water over his face first, breathing a sigh of relief. Next, he reaches for the toothbrush suspended in a clip stuck to the edge of the mirror.

From behind him, a hand catches his bicep, stopping him in the act. “You heathen,” a voice says, close to his ear.

“I knew you would get your panties in a twist about it,” Gavin says, grinning to himself in the mirror. The reflection shows no one behind him, but he only has to lean back a fraction to press up against Connor’s chest.

“And yet you proceeded anyway. That’s inconsiderate.”

Connor’s other arm wraps around Gavin’s waist, pulling him back from the counter. He reaches around, opening one of the drawers to reveal a package of replacement brushes, two more still nestled within the plastic.

“Giving me my very own toothbrush to use whenever I stay the day?” Gavin teases. “ _Babe_.”

It should feel awkward—it should be a struggle to shift from their old combative distance to this intimate closeness, but it isn’t. It’s simple, like they’ve been building up to it for months, like they should have already had it, if they’d been able to face how much neither of them wanted to kill the other.

They’re moving forward. Together.

“If it will keep your paws off _my_ toothbrush, yes,” Connor says.

Gavin puts on a fake aggrieved tone. “Fine.”

They share the space in front of the sink, brushing their teeth in easy, companionable silence. Gavin keeps watching the mirror, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he can see Connor in person, but not in the reflection.

When they’ve finished, brushes put away, Connor shifts behind him again, touching a light hand to the back of Gavin’s neck.

Gavin shivers. Connor’s skin is colder now that Gavin hasn’t been laying on top of him like a personal space heater, and he hadn’t seen the movement coming—Connor is silent as the grave, invisible in the mirror.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Connor murmurs.

“’Course I am.”

Gavin holds an arm back, blindly reaching for Connor. He manages to curl his hand over Connor’s hip, the tips of his index and middle fingers slipping under the elastic band of his underwear.

Connor responds by dancing his own fingers along the side of Gavin’s neck, wrapping around to play at the line of his throat. “No regrets, then?”

“No,” Gavin says firmly. The fact that he can’t see Connor’s expression makes him want to turn in Connor’s arms, parse how worried he still is about Gavin’s addled mind. Instead, he leans his head back onto Connor’s shoulder, able to at least see some of Connor in his peripheral. “You?”

“I wasn’t the one who got drugged,” Connor says, brushing his thumb over Gavin’s Adam’s apple.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind.”

Connor pushes forward, until Gavin is trapped between him and the counter, Connor’s hips pressed against Gavin’s ass. “I have not changed my mind about you a single night over the past few months, and I don’t anticipate ever changing it at all. I know what I want.”

In the reflection, Gavin can see his own reaction to Connor’s words. He watches his cheeks redden, watches his throat work as his swallows involuntarily. “Shit, Con. Why didn’t you—”

“Why didn’t _you_?”

Gavin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. At first, he didn’t because he thought something was wrong with him for hating the vampire less and less each time they crossed paths. He thought Connor was getting under his skin somehow—and he did, but not in any dangerous, disingenuous way.

After that, he was convinced it was one-sided. He thought only he was disastrous enough to fall for the enemy, an enemy he assumed wouldn’t have any interest in a human. Especially not a hunter.

Connor proved him wrong in every way. Gavin’s throat tightens; he’d thought his feelings for Connor had already reached their peak, but nothing compares to this—a mutual moment of understanding between them that has Gavin’s chest feeling full.

“Alright, so we’re both cowards,” Gavin jokes. He turns his face inwards, nose against Connor’s jawline. “We going to make up for lost time, or what?”

The fingers at Gavin’s throat flatten out, allowing Connor to lay his palm flush against his warm skin. The touch is still light; for all that the gesture should feel threatening, it just makes Gavin’s stomach flutter with desire.

“Mm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Connor says. “Are you feeling better after some rest?”

With a frustrated noise, Gavin pointedly rolls his hips back into Connor’s. “It’s sweet of you to ask, but it’s been hours. You know I’m good.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m fine, but _you_ won’t be if you keep dragging this out much longer.”

He feels the vibration in Connor’s throat against his cheekbone when he chuckles. “You have such a way with words, Gavin.”

A shiver runs down Gavin’s spine—he forgot how good it is to hear his first name from Connor’s lips.

The hand on his hip slides over to his abdomen, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his t-shirt before dipping lower to grab the hem, lifting it up.

In the mirror, it looks like Gavin’s shirt is being raised by nothing, his chest exposed steadily by an invisible force. There’s nothing in the reflection, but he can feel Connor’s fingers brushing against his skin, cold enough to make him squirm.

Once the shirt is bunched at his collarbone, he lifts his arms, letting Connor pull it the rest of the way off. Connor tosses it forward to land on the counter in front of them.

Before Gavin has a chance to rest his head on Connor’s shoulder again, a hand is on his chin, turning his face away to the side. Lips press to the exposed stretch of his neck, trailing kisses over taut muscle.

Briefly, he wonders if Connor will bite him, but he just as quickly comes to the conclusion that he won’t.

Connor doesn’t. His fangs stay safely away from breaking Gavin’s skin, even when he starts to suck a hickey into Gavin’s flesh, slow and careful not to apply too much force in the wrong place. Gavin’s eyes lock onto the mirror as Connor places a gentle kiss to the spot he marked, the bruise visible in the reflection.

If Connor _did_ bite him—not to harm, but as part of their intimacy—maybe Gavin wouldn’t mind. A blush blooms across his cheeks. It’s something to think about, for later.

Cool fingers close around his nipples in tandem with another kiss to his neck. A shudder passes through him as Connor teases his nipples into hardness, his lips pressing to the hinge of his jaw.

They’ve barely started and Gavin’s already hard, straining against the front of his boxer briefs. Connor’s hands are steady and deft—he’s exact in his touches, as precise and effective as he was when they skirmished. The goal is different, but the style is the same.

Gavin’s throat goes dry. If Connor is as intense in the bedroom as he is in battle, Gavin expects to have a hard time walking straight once they’ve had their fill of each other tonight.

Assuming Connor ever does anything but kiss his neck and play with his chest, that is. Gavin reaches behind himself, aiming to get a hand between them to show Connor what he wants, but Connor stops him in an instant. He grabs Gavin’s wrist, using the grip to lay Gavin’s hand down on the edge of the counter.

“Be good and leave it there,” Connor says against his ear, lips curling.

“Bastard.”

“Perhaps,” Connor replies, tone light, sounding far from remorseful. “But you’ll do as I asked, won’t you?”

Gavin watches the juxtaposition in his mirror reflection, the way his upper lip twitches in annoyance but his pupils dilate under his heavy eyelids.

“Yeah. Just fucking touch me already, damnit.”

In response, Connor lifts his hand off Gavin’s wrist to trail light fingertips up his forearm, giving him goosebumps, but not giving him what he _wants_.

“It isn’t too late for me to stake your ass,” Gavin says as he kicks a foot into Connor’s shin.

“And leave yourself in the lurch like this? Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

Connor’s smug, but he’s right. Joking or not, there’s nothing Gavin would do to stop them from having this. “C’mon,” he groans.

“Open the second drawer from the top,” Connor instructs out of nowhere. He lays both hands on Gavin’s stomach, running them down over his navel.

Whatever he has planned, Gavin has a vested interest in playing along. He leans over to reach the knob of the drawer, humming appreciatively when it brings his ass flush with Connor’s crotch, allowing him to feel the line of Connor’s erection.

In the drawer, Gavin immediately sees what Connor is aiming for. He grabs the bottle of lube without further orders, straightening and holding it up for Connor to take.

“Thank you, dear,” Connor says as he plucks the bottle from Gavin’s fingers. He follows it up with another kiss to Gavin’s neck, right over his pulse point. “Now put that hand down on the counter as well.”

“Damnit, Con,” Gavin mutters, but he does as asked, laying his hand down on the opposite side of the sink as his other one, the surface of the counter cold under his palms.

Connor pulls at the elastic band of Gavin’s underwear, knuckles dragging over Gavin’s ass as he eases the fabric down to his thighs. The garment drops to the floor where Gavin can step out of it, kicking it to the side.

The reflection in the mirror catches his eye—his skin is flush down to his chest and he can’t help but wriggle at the sensation of Connor ghosting fingers down his spine, unseen in the mirror but thoroughly felt.

He hears the cap of the bottle opening behind him, anticipation flaring through his body. A moment after, the bottle is set back down on the counter next to his left hand before disappearing behind him again.

When Connor takes a handful of his ass and spreads him open, Gavin jerks in surprise, watching himself seemingly react to nothing in the mirror.

Slick fingers circle his entrance. Gavin lets out a rush of breath as one slips inside, uncomfortably tight until Connor rests his other hand on the small of Gavin’s back, coaxing him to relax.

“That’s it,” Connor whispers, fingering Gavin with slow drags, letting him adjust easily.

It isn’t long before Gavin’s ready for more. “Keep going.”

“Impatient.”

“Damn right I am. How fucking long did we dance around each other?”

Connor kisses the nape of his neck at the same time as he adds a second finger. Gavin groans at the stretch, pushing back to bring them deeper. His cock is already aching, and Connor is so close to hitting the spot he needs.

Much like the morning prior, his efforts don’t gain him anything. Connor keeps his ministrations steady, continuing to twist and scissor his fingers inside of Gavin at a languid pace—this time giving in to Gavin’s desires, but remaining in control, leaving Gavin’s knees weak.

By the time Connor adds a third, Gavin is trembling, his fingers curled against the countertop with the restrained desire to grab onto any part of Connor he can reach.

He doesn’t let himself give in. Next time, he’s going to test how disobedient he can be before Connor decides to punish him for it, but right now, he desperately wants Connor inside of him as soon as Connor allows.

“How does that feel?” Connor asks, like he doesn’t already know full well. Gavin can practically hear the smirk in his tone.

Stowing a sarcastic response, he answers honestly. “Good. It’s really fucking good.”

The fingers inside him push all the way in to the knuckle, hooked to make him writhe.

“I could make you come just from this,” Connor says.

Gavin’s breath stutters. “ _Fuck_.”

“Is that what you want?”

The push and drag of Connor’s fingers pulls a strangled, unintelligible noise from Gavin’s throat. It’s enough to scramble his thoughts, to make his toes curl, but he wants _more_. He knows what Connor’s getting at, and the part of his mind that doesn’t like to give away any ground is already so quiet, buried deep as Connor takes care of him.

The words tumble out of him without any resistance, any shame. “Want you to fuck me. Please, Con—”

Connor lays open-mouthed kisses to Gavin’s neck, the blunt lengths of his fangs pressed against his skin. They travel up to mouth at Gavin’s earlobe, sending a blaze of heat through Gavin’s body. “As you wish.”

Gavin whines as Connor pulls out of him. He hears the shuffling of Connor lowering his own boxer briefs—the temptation to rock his hips back and feel Connor against him again is almost overwhelming, but he’s distracted by the sight of Connor grabbing the lube again.

Keeping his eyes on the mirror, Gavin listens to the sounds of Connor behind him, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as he anticipates what comes next. Instead of just setting the lube bottle back on the counter when he’s done, Connor takes an extra moment to replace it in the drawer. “I swear to _God_.”

“So needy for me,” Connor says, sounding amused.

Gavin hums in the affirmative, giving into the urge to roll his hips back.

A hand pushes against the base of his spine, not only stopping him but shoving him forward into the cabinets. Gavin hisses as his erection is pinned between the edge of the counter and his abdomen. He’s a second away from complaining again when he feels the head of Connor’s cock pressing against his hole, the words becoming lodged in his throat.

Even now, Connor is excruciatingly slow about it, easing himself in with a slow thrust, one hand still placed on Gavin’s back while the other rests on his hip, fingers kneading into his skin. Bit by bit, he fills Gavin until Gavin is shuddering, on the verge of begging.

Finally, Connor bottoms out, making Gavin let out a clipped moan when Connor’s tip hits his prostate.

Connor slots himself against Gavin fully, chest solid at his back and lips soft on the nape of his neck. He gently kisses the skin there, nosing into Gavin’s hair. “You’re so warm…”

He’s more than warm—Gavin’s heart pounds in his chest, his skin prickling. With the way Connor is holding him close, cradling him, he thinks he could melt. With the way Connor is rooted inside him, he feels licked by flame.

Connor draws out only a fraction before rocking back in, striking deep. He repeats the action again and again, putting sparks in Gavin’s eyes until it’s too much, too fast, and Gavin can’t _breathe_ —

Then Connor pulls out in earnest, settling back into that slow, gentle pace within Gavin that allows him a moment to regain his senses.

“Jesus,” Gavin says, voice hoarse.

As Connor continues moving in and out of Gavin with even thrusts, he lavishes more attention on Gavin’s jaw and neck, adding new, faint bruises to the ones already shown in Gavin’s mirror reflection.

Hands still planted on the countertop, it’s all Gavin can do to keep his knees from buckling. He slumps in Connor’s hold, not trusting himself to stay upright on his own but trusting Connor to not let him go.

In response, Connor wraps his arm around him again, running his cool palm over Gavin’s flushed skin, drawing sweeping arcs on Gavin’s sternum. Mind in a haze, Gavin starts lifting a hand to grasp onto Connor’s, before a particularly hard thrust halts his movement, making him gasp. As he catches his breath, he remembers Connor’s orders, forcing his hand flat into the porcelain.

“Oh, look at you,” Connor murmurs, voice honey thick. He slides his hand up Gavin’s chest to his throat, the tips of his fingers pushing at the underside of Gavin’s chin. “Look.”

Gavin blinks his eyes into focus, taking in the sight of himself in the mirror. Dishevelled hair, skin reddened and glistening with sweat, chest rising and falling with every rapid inhale. Connor curls his fingers to scratch into his skin and Gavin can see the pink blemishes forming in real time.

He looks like a mess, he looks—

“Gorgeous,” Connor says before licking a stripe up Gavin’s neck. “You drive me _wild_ , Gavin, you’re stunning…”

A full-bodied tremble wracks through Gavin’s body at the praise, at first feeling undeserving, almost indignant, wanting to say _no, don’t bullshit me_ , but—Connor’s tone is too emphatic, too commanding, brokering no argument.

“Have wanted this for so long,” Connor adds, speaking into the line of Gavin’s neck. “Wanted you.”

And Gavin can believe it, with everything that has happened between them, the ways Connor has opened up to him. “Fuck, yeah, me too,” he rasps. “Just didn’t think—”

Connor angles his next thrust in a way that makes Gavin cut himself off with a cry. It’s so good, and he understands, gets the intended message.

The hand on his chest drops to his abdomen with purpose. Connor adjusts their hips to give them some space, slipping lower to wrap around Gavin’s cock.

Throwing his head back with a groan, Gavin bucks into the circle of Connor’s hand. Connor fucks into him, squeezes his fingers around him, and Gavin jolts, clamping down as he jerks in Connor’s hold.

“Connor,” he gasps, eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck, please…”

Connor twists his hand as he pulls up on Gavin’s cock, fingers sweeping around him and then passing over his head. His lips ghost along Gavin’s jawline as he speaks. “Going to come for me, Gavin?”

The only response he can give is a garbled moan. He’s close—between the thrust of Connor’s cock inside of him and his hand working him over, the kisses on his neck and that raspy voice calling him by name, he’s about ready to burst.

With the snap of Connor’s hips, he’s gone. Gavin arches into Connor’s hand with a gasp as he comes, the world whiting out around him. Connor slows his grasp to long, even pulls until Gavin’s spent, going lax in Connor’s arms.

“Damn, Con,” he manages once he can think somewhat straight again.

“You come as beautifully as you do everything else.”

Gavin turns his head to nuzzle his face into Connor’s, their noses bumping together. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Connor lays a kiss on the corner of his lips as he grinds into Gavin with stuttered movements, less controlled than he has been—a sign that he’s just as undone as Gavin, under that calm surface.

“Come inside me,” Gavin says.

With a low growl, Connor grasps Gavin’s hips in both hands, holding him still as he plunges into him. It’s almost possessive in a way that Gavin doesn’t mind _at all_ , when coupled with how caring and attentive Connor has been—he thinks of Connor’s reaction to hearing another vampire hurt him, knows that Connor’s possessiveness goes hand in hand with protectiveness. After only a few more thrusts, Connor sinks all the way inside Gavin, fingers digging into his skin the moment before release.

Gavin lets out pleased hum, relishing the feeling. Finally raising a hand off the counter, he reaches up to cup the back of Connor’s head, mussing his hair. Connor kisses his face again, so loving and gentle.

“My legs feel like jelly,” Gavin says with a lazy grin. He’s sufficiently blissed—sex with Connor was everything he’d fantasized about and more.

Connor chuckles. He pulls out of Gavin slowly, then steps back, dislodging Gavin’s hand from his hair, so he can spin Gavin around. Warm lips capture Gavin’s own—pliant and satiated, Gavin readily invites him close, sighing happily when Connor licks into his mouth, kissing him deeply.

Gavin is relaxed, buoyant. He wraps his arms around Connor’s shoulders, holding on tight.

When Connor pulls away, he leans his forehead against Gavin’s, like he did before, when everything between them finally began piecing together. The connection makes something warm settle in Gavin’s core.

“Back to bed, then?” Connor asks.

Gavin huffs an amused breath. “So we really are making up for lost time?”

“It was _your_ idea. And I think it’s a good one.”

“’Course it is,” Gavin says, drawing formless shapes at the base of Connor’s neck. “Just remember that I’m only human, so keep your expectations in check.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

Connor lifts Gavin straight into the air, pulling a surprised yelp from him as he reflexively locks his legs around Connor’s waist. “Warn a guy!”

“Maybe I like surprising you,” Connor teases as he carries Gavin through the doorway into the living space, turning for the bedroom. “What would you like to eat? I’ll order something for you. Need your strength before I have my way with you again, don’t you?”

Gavin smiles, leaning into Connor’s shoulder. It seems Connor isn’t blind to Gavin’s pesky human needs, after all—maybe he’s right, Gavin has nothing to worry about at all.

The two of them will make it work. It’s almost easy, as if by instinct.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> come chat at the [detroit: new era discord server](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm)!


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